


Site 16 - The Tartarus Gate

by Doctor_Sirus



Series: Welcome to the Foundation [1]
Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, SCP Foundation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angry Celestia, Crossover, Dossiers, Gen, Scientific Apathy, Spies & Secret Agents, black ops, cosmic horror, fall from grace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Sirus/pseuds/Doctor_Sirus
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple task: drop Cerberus off at the Gates of Tartarus, the prison doors for Equestria's greatest and most terrible monsters. Little did Twilight know it was host to an entirely different prison: the SCP Foundation.Twilight is enthralled with the sheer amount of knowledge and power the Foundation contains. They are likewise willing to bring her on board. After all, who can stop a black ops facility that doesn't officially exist?Celestia, if she has any say in the matter, and she promised there would be hell to pay if the Foundation harmed her student.





	1. The Foundation Creed

This is not our world. We are a grain of sand on the beach. A star in the fabric of the midnight sky. We share this world with horrors beyond imagining and comprehension, but the Foundation cannot ask for aid. We are alone in this war. We trudge through the darkness so that the world can enjoy one more day in the light. We do not steal the truth, we secure the truth so people may live normal lives. We do not lie to protect ourselves, we lie to contain evil and danger. We do not rule, we protect the innocent from the juggernauts of the earth. We suffer so that others may go about their lives in peace.

 

We Secure. We Contain. We Protect.

\- “The Administrator”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am open for commissions, or you can find me on Patreon under Journeyman_the_Bard.


	2. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twilight notices something odd about Cerberus when she is ferrying him back to Tartarus. What is even more odd is that she is not alone.

**Wrong Place, Wrong Time**

Twilight could not help but indulge herself in the morning air. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the scents scattered on the winds: crisp leaves, fresh water from a nearby spring, and the earthy scent of soil and meager grasses. The sun warmed her back as she stretched her limbs to their limits, cracks and pops shooting both up and down her body.

She had slept under the shade of a girthy oak tree with a blanket form her saddlebags. Such rural and naturalistic features were far different than the cozy warmth of her Ponyville home, but such facts did not bother the studious unicorn at that moment. Twilight had a job to do, and she intended to complete it.

The dawn rays illuminated the deep rolling hills and cliff faces of lands far west of Canterlot or Ponyville. The usual beds of flowers or lengthy expanses of greenery were becoming fewer and farther in between the further she traveled. Daffodils, lilies, and other superfluously pleasurable flora were rare finds. Large patches of barren stone and earth were becoming more and more common.

“Big day,” she told herself before releasing a mighty yawn. “The Gates of Tartarus should be near.” Twilight had been escorting Cerberus across Equestria since the previous afternoon. It had been most uneventful, devoid of even local creatures. Strange... why were all the critters and small animals gone? They had been plentiful for the first several miles of her trek out of Ponyville, but ever since she had fallen asleep, they had been missing.

“Strange...” Twilight chalked up the incongruity to the proximity of Tartarus. It _was_ the prison for some of the land's most dangerous monsters after all. If she wasn’t escorting Cerberus, she wouldn’t be caught anywhere near the blasted place.

“Although I could just check out some books in the Royal Canterlot Library to find out more about the place,” she thought out loud. But, of course, there was nothing quite like hoofs-on experience after all.

Twilight cantered over a small hill and smiled; Cerberus hadn’t moved from his temporary bed in the slightest. He had plopped himself down in the center of a large depression between hills. Large for a pony was, of course, just the right size for Cerberus. The dog had rolled onto his back in the throes of sleep. A procession of drool oozed out of its snoring jowls and dripped onto the dirt.

“Wake up, you overgrown pup. We have to get you back to the Gates.” Twilight walked up to the dog and began nudging one of his three head. “Come on.” Twilight looked around briefly and spotted the ball she had used to entice the gate guardian to follow her. Using her magic, she levitated the sphere above his nose. The ball was slathered in drool and she refused to touch it.

“Come on, Cerberus. It’s time to wake up.” Cerberus sniffed the air and kicked one of his hind legs. The action uprooted a small tree. Twilight sighed and nudged the massive head once again. “We have a disaster to stop! My future self said so!”

Next Tuesday morning. That was the deadline her future self had given... herself. To prevent some calamity in the future, she had seen fit to turn back the clock and warn herself about something terrible. The exact context of the disaster was unknown, as Future Twilight hadn’t had quite enough time to to elaborate. However, seeing Cerberus storm into town, it wasn’t hard to discover.

“Wake up!” Cerberus twitched and groaned, licking its lips. with its lengthy tongue. “Yuck! You need a breath mint.” Dog breath was bad enough, but dog morning breath? Ew.

Nevertheless, all three of its heads yawned. “That’s a good Cerberus. Come on, we...” Twilight trailed off. Twilight had been rubbing one of Cerberus’ heads to coax it out of sleep. Beneath the blackened fur was a... groove? No... Twilight felt along the skull with a hoof, exploring curiously.

No, not a groove. A scar. Running right along the front of the skull where the frontal lobe was a large, singular surgical scar. The center was what looked like a puncture wound that fractured the skull in a spiderweb pattern.

“...What?” It was a grievous injury, if a fully healed one. The pain must have been agonizing. But how did the wound heal so perfectly? Twilight found it, and only by accident. Such care could have only been accomplished in the most state of the art facilities, not out in the open air of Equestria, far away from any civilization in general.

Twilight didn’t have time to ponder any further. Cerberus rose to his pawed feet and stretched. The popping occurring up and down his spine sounded more like a small explosion belonging in Twilight’s workshop than the displacement of bodily fluids and air. Two of his heads looked around blearily, while one focused on the ball currently in Twilight’s telekinetic grasp.

Twilight shrugged the thought off; it wasn’t as important as getting Cerberus back to the Gates. Whoever repaired the wound knew what they were doing, and for that, Twilight was thankful. Even the hulking, seemingly playful, guardian needed care by ponykind.

Twilight trotted, which quickly broke into a full gallop. The heightened speed was necessary; Cerberus was a medium-sized monster and outpaced her in a few strides. With a little sliver of magic from her horn, Twilight linked out of existence and reappeared a good hundred meters ahead of Cerberus. The dog caught up quickly, and then Twilight repeated the process, Blinking out once more.

Even at such a greatly accelerated pace due to her speed-assisted magic, it was exhausting for the young unicorn. Twilight was by no means lazy, but the bookworm’s sedentary lifestyle did not grant her an excess of stamina. Not more than ten minutes at full gallop between Blinks, Twilight was already puffing and panting for breath. Twilight slowed to a meager canter and Cerberus halted in front of her, each head grinning vapidly with tongues hanging out.

“Okay, Cerberus.” Rather than levitate the ball any further, Twilight hurled it through the air. One head barked after the flying object and he scampered off, shaking the earth with each thunderous step.

Twilight sighed and panned her head across the landscape as she caught her breath. She had been paying just enough attention to avoid any precipices of difficult terrain, but the effort to keep running had produced a tunnel vision in which she could not break until she halted. Most of the flora had faded altogether, with the exception of hardy trees coated on tough, gnarled bark. The soil had become more rocky than earthy. Only the most fortuitous plants were capable of surviving in the harsher environment. It was hard to believe that the lush, if dangerous, Everfree Forest was less than a day’s gallop away. The land was slowly dying.

“No, not dying... withering.” Not even the pegasi lived in the area to help control the weather. The rocky landscape was as wild and untamed as the craggy outcroppings and barren land suggested. As unusual as it was, no animals were in sight still. “Odd.” Animals tended to at least take minimal care of themselves, but there were none. No animals, let alone ponies.

* * *

“Indeed I do, Red Leader. Primary target sighted. Civvie in proximity. A single pony. Purple coat. Civvie is taking a breather while SCP-284 is moving forward. Terminate, Captain?” whispered a voice silently.

Up in the skies, hidden from even the most careful eyes, a single pegasus was donned in charcoal gray clothing to become nearly invisible on his cumulous cloud. Slung over his back was a bulky piece of cylindrical metal wrapped in gray cloth to disguise it. The pegasus reached around and shoved a hoof into the empty cylinder. His lined his eyes between two rails in the metal and placed his mouth around the quick release trigger. Each side of the cylinder contained a magical distribution node to propel any object placed between the grooves at blinding speed. An auto-injector accomplished such a task, but any substantially small piece of debris could be propelled with enough force to repaint walls with gray matter.

The pegasus had not yet received a reply from his CO, so he lay prone on the cloud and aimed his magic-propelled rail gun at the unsuspecting unicorn. The pegasus’ earpiece crackled with static momentarily before the voice of his captain spoke. “Sending a visual to Command. Line up a shot and prepare to fire.”

“Copy.” The pegasus adjusted his shot to the unicorn’s eye. Unicorns had substantially thicker skull structure than earth ponies or pegasi. While a shot from the railgun would most likely kill the unicorn, there was a chance her skull could deflect most of the pellet’s energy. The chance was minute, but she might survive, unless he targeted the skull where it was thinnest or not present at all.

A small compartment opened on the rail gun and released a tiny, spherical pellet between each rail. All it took now was to bite down on the release, and the unicorn would be nothing but red mist. All he needed was just one, simple word...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editors: Wolfmaster1337, Maverick Frond  
> I am open for commissions, or you can find me on Patreon under Journeyman_the_Bard.


	3. Oh, crap...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The black ops facility is revealed, and upon seeing the coming guest, one of the doctors makes a critical error.

Doctor Sylar was still dragging his hooves. Yeah, he’d woken up at eight o’clock for his shift at nine, but the fact that he was conscious and breathing fresh oxygen wasn’t enough to lift his downtrodden spirit. Sylar had the unfortunate privilege of being the Oracle for Mobile Task Force Beta-4 “Storm Chasers” as they tried to corral the pesky mutt Cerberus.

“Just put the Celestia damned dog under and be done with it.” Lobotomizing the three heads had been difficult, costly, and at the price of over two dozen agents. Cerberus was once revered to be a mad berzerker, but now it was little more than a pup in terms of mental faculties. That didn’t help much, as the blasted dog kept escaping while trying to play. 

After his shift as an Oracle was up, he was going to request a termination of the thing and get it over with.

“Morning, Sylar,” a unicorn crooned. Sylar looked at the one provoking his latent headache with bleary eyes. Doctor Sora was balancing on the very edge of his hooves.

Oh god, it was going to be a long day.

“Hello, Sora.”

“You look awful.”

“I wonder why,” Sylar replied dryly. Sora offered him a cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted and drank. Bleh; espresso. No wonder Sora was so chip.

Sora kept the conversation brief and left, leaving Sylar to his own devices. Even if he hated the taste of espresso, he took a hearty dose of the caffeinated beverage to diminish the sleep clouding his brain.

Sylar passed rows upon rows of cubicles full of ponies. The Foundation was an equal opportunity employer, but ponies far outstripped the rest of the staff by almost two to one. Doctor Grayfeather and Grendel were discussing something near the water cooler, Rashid quietly enjoyed a sandwich on his break, and Willows was quickly galloping into an office with a bunch of other researchers. Sounds of chatter blended together in a noisy cacophony. He caught conversations about stock prices, recent additions to the SCP archive, another containment breach by SCP-267, aaaaand Sylar tuned everything else out afterwards. Despite the open cubicles and cheerful demeanor of his fellow researchers, Sylar couldn’t bring himself to care about any of the fuss he was or was not hearing.

The Foundation was a prison and a library, an nigh-impenetrable cell that housed some of the most dangerous creatures and items on the planet and a stockpile of all the information those oddities could provide. Honestly, Sylar was... bored. 

Sylar exited the cubicles and entered a blank hallway intermittently lined with cameras. In Site-16, there was always someone watching.

Sylar sighed, telekinetically removed his ID card from around his neck, and swiped it in the slot. Sylar chewed over the rampant thoughts colliding in his head. What was wrong with him today? He’d never before had he woken up giving so little of a fuck before. There was  _ so much _ to learn and study and analyze, but maybe that was the trap he had fallen into. The Foundation hid such magnificent and terrible wonders from the eyes of the world, locking them behind gilded cages and walls of lies in the darkest holes imaginable. The Foundation was a prison, plain and simple, and host to the most fantastic things imaginable. But when the abnormal became normal, what made the allure so enticing diminishes. There really was too much of a good thing.

So Sylar levitated his coffee, opened another door, this one with actual armed griffons, and entered. He would do his job as an Oracle, instruct MTF Beta-4 if needed, and report any significant details as needed.

Wash, rinse, repeat, do paperwork. 

Sylar took another sip of his coffee and winced; he  _ really _ didn’t like the taste of espresso. His eyes started wandering down the hallway he was traversing. it was nothing special, just the regular boring gray as all the rest of the facility. Of course, there was the occasional painting to decorate the bland walls, but he wasn’t quite feeling up to appreciating modern art.

The corridor he was walking down was interspaced by doors on either side. Each door had a single serial number printed across its surface with an Oracle contained behind most. Oracles were the lifelines of field agents and the mobile task forces. The MTFs were the eyes and ears, while the oracles were the brains. Need to call for a biohazard or clean-up crew? Why, your friendly neighborhood Oracle is only a phone call away. Need to carpet bomb a settlement to stop an infection? Call the Oracle. 

“I need backup, Oracle. What do I do, Oracle? Stop touching your dick, Oracle,” Sylar grumbled. Most Oracle input was routine to the point of excruciating. Summon back-up, give permission for Mnemonic Enchantments, catalog reports from agents and task forces, make a few calls to allow agents access into classified area. It was all so  _ boring _ . It only got interesting when a new SCP was discovered or on the rare containment breach, Celestia forbid that ever happen. The last time Sylar checked, SCP-724 had a turnover of three agents a week.

“248... 249... 250... 251... 252...” The stallion halted at a door labeled ‘O16-253’. Well, it was his stop. Sylar swiped his card once again. His Level 3 access card got him permission to access all but the most dangerous SCPs and secure areas. The little red light next to the scanner turned green, and the door hissed open.

Another unicorn sat on a pile of cushions in front of a computer terminal. Upon hearing the door hiss, the unicorn articulated into his headset slowly, “Standby, Beta-4. Prepare for a new Oracle.” Some inarticulate garbage filtered over the comms. Whatever it was, Sylar was too far away to hear it out of the tiny headset.

The unicorn - Sylar forgot his name as soon as he read the nametag - gathered his meager gear and walked passed him. They bumped knees in warm camaraderie, and he quickly left. Sylar couldn’t blame him. The Oracle chambers were little more than enclosed cubicles with the light of half dozen monitors and a single incandescent bulb to illuminate the room. 

Sylar removed his saddlebags, set them in a corner, and drained his disgusting coffee in a final gulp. Shuddering at the taste, he placed the empty mug on his desk and sat down. Adjusting the cushions to suit him, he placed the headset firmly around his ears.

“Beta-4, this is Doctor Sylar, Level-3. Sing for me, everyone.”

“Copy, Oracle. Captain Talos, Red Leader.”

“Dawn, Red One.”

“Iron Sight, Red Two.”

“Bertha, Red Three.”

“Ghost, Red Four.”

“Tubalcain, Red Five.”

Sylar waited for a moment, but no further voices made themselves known. “Storm Chasers,” Sylar used the mobile task force’s pet name rather than their Foundation-given one, “where is the remainder of your team?”

Talos responded, “On hold in Site-16, Oracle. The first known telemetry of SCP-284 was that it was heading for a civilian settlement. Orders were to not spook the locals, so we came in minimally.”

“Roger that.” Sylar chewed on his lower lip in thought, thinking. “Will mass amnesiacs be required, Red Leader?”

“Negative. SCP-284 has already left the settlement with zero confirmed casualties and fatalities. Subject is supposedly being herded back to Site-16 by a lone pony.”

“How far from the subject are you?” Sylar placed a bobble-headed cat on the top of one of his many monitors. He tapped the head and the tabby started bobbing without conviction.

“Four clicks out, Oracle. Iron Sight has already been sent ahead for reconnaissance with Dawn as backup. We’ll be upon the civvie shortly.”

“Understood, Red Leader. Be prepared to administer a Class-B Mnemonic Enchantment with a suitable cover story. Arm yourselves in case the civilian proves hostile. Report any change in your mission as they occur.”

“Affirmative. Over and out.”

The entirety of Beta-4 was silent for the next half hour. Deciding to kill some time now that his cat stopped bobbing its head, Sylar pulled the live feeds from each team member. Ghost and Tubalcain followed on the barren ground, while the remainder used their wings. Iron Sight and Dawn rose above the clouds to gain an eye for the land, and it was not long until they sighted their quarry.

“Target acquired. Ten minutes out.”

“Affirmative, Iron Eyes. Do you have confirmation on the presence of a civilian?” Talos asked over the radio.

“Indeed I do, Red Leader. Primary target sighted. Civvie in proximity. A single pony. Purple coat. Civvie is taking a breather while SCP-284 is moving forward. Terminate, Captain?” Iron Eyes’ feed was brought to the front of all the others. The land was the barren rocks that Sylar had long been a staple of Site-16. 

“Hold off on that.”

Sylar leaned to the left to a small water cooler. Using his magic to pull the tab, he filled his empty mug with water and took a sip.

“I see... her? Yes. Sending a visual to Command. Line up a shot and prepare to fire.”

“Copy.” In Iron Eyes’ feed, he removed his weapon and lined up a shot. Talos, meanwhile, dabbled with his PDA and sent an image to his screen.

Sylar took a drink form his mug... and immediately spat it out.

“Oracle? Is everything alright?” Talos questioned. All he heard was a flood of static as Sylar’s headset was saturated in water.

Sylar grabbed his mic and readjusted it. “Hold your fire! I repeat, hold your fire! Do not engage!”

“Stand down, Iron Eyes!” Talos called over the mic. He wasn’t quite sure what had the doctor so aggravated, but he knew better than to question an Oracle.

“Change of plans, Captain. Escort SCP-284 back to Site-16 and secure the civilian. She is to not be harmed! Understood?”

“I gotcha, Oracle. Over and out.”

The line crackled static for a moment before cutting out entirely. Sylar could only stare at his screen, slackjawed. “What the hell is she doing here?” A freeze frame of a lavender unicorn with a starburst cutie mark was plastered across one of his monitors. He shook his head, snapping himself out of his stupor. He rose, not even bothering to collect his saddlebags. 

“Celestia fuck me with her horn or she’s going to kill us all.” Sylar swiped his card at the door and ran down the corridor at a full gallop.

On the plus side, Sylar wasn’t bored anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editors: Wolfmaster1337  
> I am open for commissions, or you can find me on Patreon under Journeyman_the_Bard.


	4. SCP-1000 - White Horse

**Item #:** SCP-1000

 **Object Class:** Euclid

 **Special Containment Procedures:** Containment Area 24 surrounds the ██████████ █████ ██████ area and is to be quarantined under the cover story of dangerous terrain. Any unauthorized personnel attempting to enter the grounds is to be detained for questioning and given a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment. Should the perpetrator be prepubescent or younger, questioning is suspended and the subject shall be immediately escorted off site after the enchantment has been cast, as SCP-1000 hunts children with a greater tenacity than it hunts for adults.

Bi-hourly patrols containing no less than four (4) agents must patrol the grounds. Recording devices are attached to all agents at all times with all feeds backed up on external and on site sources. Device corruption is used to predict SCP-1000 proximity. If there is any fault with the equipment, replacement equipment must be obtained immediately. All equipment must be tested for faults every half hour. No weapons of any kind are permitted inside or near the border of Containment Area 24.

No Foundation staff are allowed to enter Containment Area 24 alone unless granted approval by an O5 majority; failure to comply makes the risks punishment in of itself. All staff must pass rigorous psychological examination. Those with high resistance to psyonic manipulation or reality shifts are given preference. All instances of amnesia, paranoia, audio or visual hallucinations, violent or atypical behavior, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, or acute insomnia must be reported immediately. No D-Class are allowed on site at any time in order to decrease exposure to SCP-1000’s cognitohazardous effects.

No one is allowed to look near SCP-1000’s general direction, regardless of the situation. Anyone discovered in the presence of SCP-1000 is officially MIA and no rescue must be attempted. Should anyone deemed MIA ever be recovered, they must be placed under suicide watch and questioned about their experiences. Even if the missing agent or researcher is deemed sound of mind, he or she must not be released into active service until a minimum of six (6) months have passed.

Every eight (8) days, a single D-Class must be deposited near the geographical center of ██████████ █████ ██████. [s]A visual and auditory recording device must be placed on each D-Class offered to SCP-1000.[/s] _No agent or researcher may observe SCP-1000’s behavior by any direct or indirect means._  Should SCP-1000 ever venture out of its habitat, protocol is to locate a █████████████ orphanage and deposit 1-5 children into the Area’s geographical center. This has proven to decrease lengthy containment breaches by 68%.

Should any agents on patrol hear abnormal sounds up to and including: laughter, crying, shouts, screams, begging, humming, or moaning, they are to investigate the source. Should they encounter any civilians, they are to be detained and questioned prior to receiving a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment. If agents discover SCP-1000 or any personnel in its presence, agents are to evacuate immediately and log all in the vicinity as MIA.

 **Description:** SCP-1000 is a pony of unknown race or type. To date, SCP-1000 has not communicated with the Foundation or any known sources. No physical description can be made, as its inherent cognitohazard and corruption effects make observation nearly impossible. No further attempts are to be made to determine SCP-1000’s physical appearance.

The subject has a corrosive effect on the mental state of all life forms that come into its presence. Prolonged exposure to the subject has increasingly damaging effects regardless of time between incidents. Deleterious mental conditions increase at a logarithmic rate the closer one approaches the subject. Until more data can be compiled, it is unknown if such an effect is a deliberate act by SCP-1000 to not be seen, or a passive ability of its physical form.

SCP-1000’s aura has an equally hazardous effect on technology. All complex devices, especially those that operate on electricity, suffer corruption when it is near, yet operate at normal efficiency outside its area of influence.

SCP-1000 must be “fed” routinely to prevent it from preying on the public or Foundation agents. Most life forms in its habitat have long since perished and those that remain instinctively flee its close proximity. Geo-locators attached to offered D-Class vanish as soon as SCP-1000 abducts them. No remains have ever been found.

The subject enters a state of languor or vanishes from sight for approximately 2-9 days after feeding. Subject has shown increased docility and decreased assaults on Foundation personnel if presented with children instead of D-Class. A possible alteration in its feeding is undergoing review.

The subject has the ability to selectively choose who sees it and who doesn’t, effectively rendering it invisible to all but its prey. Such behavior is likely a tactic to induce fear, but the nature and desires of SCP-1000 remain a mystery, as are the reasons behind why it hunts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editors: Trachyon  
> I am open for commissions, or you can find me on Patreon under Journeyman_the_Bard.


End file.
